


Touch Point

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 11:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18755596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Five times they hold hands.





	Touch Point

1 Deep Throat

He’s out of the car before she can even kill the engine. And then he falls, crashes to the ground without warning.   
“Head,” he says through heavy breaths. His eyes are screwed shut, his lips disappearing into the paleness of his face. The pain is evident from his forehead to his feet.   
She can’t loosen any of him to check vitals. All she can do is try to lift him, but he remains curled like a taut comma, grunting into his chest.  
“Mulder, I need to get you inside. Can you stand?”  
He rolls around, groaning. “I can’t,” he says. “Can’t.”  
There are a hundred questions she wants to ask him about his time inside that air base. About why he ditched her. About what he thinks he’s going to achieve by trying to fight the military. But all of those will have to wait. He moans louder and she drops back to her knees, hands on his shoulder.  
“You can, Mulder,” she says. “And you will. Right now.” She tugs at his sleeve and he shucks her off. Good. There’s still some fight. She pulls again and he turns over, lifting himself up on all fours.  
“Up,” she says.   
“Fuck you,” he responds and she stands. 

There’s a woman over the other side of the parking lot and she’s staring at them. Fuck you, she thinks and stoops again. “One more go, and you’re there, Mulder. Then we can get you inside. See what the damage is.”  
“I thought you were fucking off.”  
She chuffs. “I’ll gladly fuck off after I’ve checked you over, Mulder.”   
There’s a long pause. He coughs. Hacks up a gob of spit that trails down his chin. His shoulders flex and he leans himself back on his heels. His face is sheen with sweat, hair sticking up this way and that. His eyes are closed and his chest expands and contracts with uneven breaths. Without opening his eyes, he holds up his hand, finding hers. She wraps her fingers around his and pulls. When he’s at the same height as her, he opens his eyes and there’s a glimmer of gratitude.  
They walk to the motel door hand in hand, his shoulders twisted towards her. She helps him to the bed and goes to remove his shoes. He kicks out and her hand snaps back.  
“We need to go to the Budahas house.”  
“No, Mulder. You need to go to the hospital.” She rubs the side of her palm, smarting still.  
He struggles up and looks at her. She pushes him back down. He sits up again. She repeats her action. He turns his head away, rubbing his temples with his fingers.  
“Mulder, what did they do to you?”  
“Doesn’t matter,” he says.   
She dampens a wash cloth, presses it to his forehead. He rolls over and she sits on the bed. He’s been crying, pale tracks cut across his grubby cheeks. He sniffs, reminding her of a little boy. Then he surprises her, crawling his fingers into her lap and taking hold of her sore hand.  
“Sorry, Scully.”  
And she’s inclined to believe him.

2 Squeeze

He finds her walking in the park behind her apartment block. It’s cold enough to see your breath and he’s still relieved to see hers. He’d never tell her though. She’d smack him down with one of her looks. He’s learned that about her, in these few months together; Scully is the strongest person he knows. She’s strong on the inside, where it counts. And even physically, despite her size, she does all right. But when he saw her struggling with Tooms, his heart lurched so hard he’s certain he heard it rebound against his ribs. Until that moment, he hadn’t realised how invested he was in his new partner. How much he cared.  
He probably shouldn’t even think of her as new. It’s been months. But she still surprises him. Like now. She’s make-up-free, she’s got freckles, her cheeks are blooming with cold, her feet are encased in bright white runners but she’s walking. Hands deep in the pockets of a thick coat. And jeans! She’s wearing jeans and for some reason his heart tickles his chest and he feels a blush coming.   
“Mulder,” she says, and she looks a little embarrassed, a little caught out by his appearance. “What brings you to this neck of the woods? A case? Hopefully not another liver-eating mutant.”  
He laughs even though it’s not really funny but when she says it, well, there’s something about Scully making jokes. She’s so serious, so straight-laced.   
“I…I was…just. I wanted to see if you were doing okay, Scully.” There. It wasn’t so hard. This being honest about feelings thing.  
Now, she is fully surprised. Her eyes widen, her mouth makes an O, her hands come out of her pockets and she kind of claps them together. “Oh,” she says, rubbing them like she might make fire, “I’m fine.”   
“Well, that’s good then,” he says.  
They walk on, settling into a synchronicity of strides. It’s not until they reach the end of the footpath, where the park ends and the street begins, that he realises he’s been holding her hand. She doesn’t seem to mind.

3 One Breath

He comes in slowly, in increments. Hair, forehead, nose, whole face, shoulders, body, feet. He’s a contradiction, is Fox Mulder. This man who is so confident that alien life exists, that his sister was stolen by little grey men, that the government is out to get him and her and everybody, that he would willingly put his job and his life on the line to prove it; yet he’s the same man here now who looks like he’s about to break in two because she’s in hospital.   
“It’s not your fault,” she says for the tenth time. And she means it.   
“It is, Scully. Your work with me puts you in danger. That’s the bottom line.”  
She reaches out to touch his hand. He pulls it away. “The bottom line is that I make the decision every day to work with you. I make it. Not you.”  
He looks down at the sheet, with its bobbled surface and pulled threads. He picks at one.  
“Actually, Mulder, I’m glad you came when you did,” she says, pushing herself up. “I’m ready for a walk.”  
He looks back at the door, like they’re about to be caught out. “Are you allowed up?”  
“I’m a doctor, Mulder.”  
“That’s not what I asked.”  
She’s forgotten how cute he is when he’s indignant. She swings her legs around and holds her hands out to him. “I’ll need some support.”  
“Do you remember anything yet?” He takes her hands and she presses her feet to the floor. It feels odd, to be upright. She lets the dizzy spell pass, takes a deep breath and moves one foot in front of the other.   
“Not really,” she says but there have been dreams and flashes and bolts of fear.   
He’s walking backwards and she’s walking forward, and it’s the kind of dance only they could do. An awkward waltz, skirting around the truth.

4 Irresistible

He finds her in the park again. She sees him and waves. In the half-light, the bruises on her forehead and chin are bronze. This time, he takes her hand deliberately. She lifts it up between them, inspecting their slotted fingers, approving.   
They walk without talking. 

5 Pusher

The leave the little man behind. But she knows he’s still in Mulder’s head. His footsteps behind her reveal so much about his mental state. The softer fall, the lagging. He’s brooding, he’s feeling guilty.   
She drives him home and the way he gets out of the car has her thinking that he shouldn’t be alone. Her feet tap up his apartment block steps and he turns, waits for her.  
“You don’t have to.”  
“I know,” she says. “But I want to.”  
She makes them coffee, watches the fish float in the green light, while he flicks through the tv channels.  
“You should go,” he says. “Before…”  
“Before what?”  
And then he’s weeping. Heeling the tears away with his palms, looking anywhere but at her. He throws the remote across the room and it skitters under his desk.   
“I nearly fucking killed you, Scully.”  
“It wasn’t you,” she says, laying a hand on his shoulder. “It was him.”  
He jerks it away, stands up. His fingers knead against his hips. “I pointed my gun at you. I could feel my finger…”  
She takes his hand and pulls open each digit, flattening them into her palm. She rolls the knuckles of his fingers, between her thumb and forefinger, gently massaging away his fear. He looks down at her, eyes still watery. It seems like a natural progression from her intimate gesture to his pressing a kiss against each of her own knuckles, and all the while he’s looking at her, and at some point they’ve moved towards each other so that their legs touch, their hips, their chests and then they’re dancing, moving, back towards the couch, hands clutched, eyes locked, hearts pounding.  
She should probably stop but he feels so good underneath her and he kisses her harder, holds her, crushes her to his chest. He needs this, she thinks. And she wants this.


End file.
